A Pikmin's Tale
by xpNc
Summary: The journal of a Pikmin, told to follow the command of a man from the heavens, and his opinions on the life of a Red Pikmin.


Day 1, 2300 hours:

Oh, tired I am.

Once again, our lord and saviour, the one who identifies himself as "Olimar", has come to our beautiful planet to save us from extinction. When I was but a lad (70 hours ago), I was told stories of the first time he arrived, and used our kind to help himself propel into the heavens. According to the stories, passed down generation-after-generation, he encountered my race, the "Red Pikmin" as he would say in his odd yet amusing language first, and used our sheer strength and numbers to assist in creating his aircraft. The stories about his status as a deity seem to be exaggerated, however, as he seems little more than a Pikmin like myself, but with light-orange skin . . .

He officially arrived when I and my comrades were attempting to capture prey with great difficulty. We didn't even see him land his holy craft, all we saw was our charismatic leader walking down the large land formation that we've nicknamed "Holy Mountain". At the time of writing this, the exhaustion marks from Olimar's landing are still in the snow at the top, and will most likely become a holy object of sorts . . . if we could get any kind of religious leadership in our uncivilized syndicate. However, back on the subject, Olimar used some sort of sound device to get us instantly alert, and at his side, and he literally picked us up and tossed us at the creature we seeked for substinence. The height we gained was an advantage over the stubby creature, and we beat him to a point of death, and we immediately returned to Olimar's side, wondering what to do next. In retrospect, it was slightly humiliating for me to think that this man, who apparently descended from the heavens, was being allowed to command us like simple animals. Regardless of MY discontent, my comrades were practically kissing Olimar's feet!

Was I the only sane one around? 'Tis a question not needed . . . of course I'm the only sane one here . . . just when I thought my comrades couldn't get any more odd, they started telling me about how Olimar was talking to another "Great Being", named Louie, who was on the other side of our home, near the "Onion" where I live. Louie apparently fell from the heavens, without the help of an aircraft, and was equally skilled in controlling Pikmin. Using a orchard full our sacred pellets, he created a squad of 20 or so Pikmin to weigh down a now-useless dam we had placed a many seasons ago. When Olimar and Louie re-united, it was the stuff of legend. They got all of us alert, and told us to follow them using their sound generators.

Unlike his first "blessed encounter" with my kind, Olimar, instead of using forced labour to create an aircraft, he used forced labour to carry one of our ancient metallic relics to his vehicle of myth. Perhaps as an offering of some sort, but when I asked him, he clearly could not understand my language. When we finally brought the relic to the ship, it dematerialized it, and apparently analyzed its worth. I was certainly disgusted, that was a landmark. Olimar's ship made a few beeps and boops, for lack of a better term, and Olimar seemed very impressed with the worth of the relic. It had been quite the experience, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed that our physical labour had gone unrewarded. Being intelligent, however, I kept my mouth shut, knowing what my zealous comrades would do to me if I showed even one sign of heresy.

As the day progressed, Olimar and Louie continued to deface our precious orchards to make us reproduce at a faster rate than we were used to, and all the heavy lifting of the pellet fruit was making my, if not all the Pikmins' arms hurt. But, as stated earlier, I dared not complained. I thought perhaps Olimar was preparing some sort of millitary assault against the heavens, but it was apparent that was not the case as he made us march around like soldiers, and make us attack more of the spotted red beasts, even though we required no more food. I, for one, thought the unjustified attack was unfair to the population of the beasts, who will more likely than not go extinct if Olimar continues to make us attack them without warning.

Hours later, we encountered a massive version of the white-spotted beats, dwarfing each one of us by at least 7 times. And one could guess what Olimar made us do, of course, we had to attack it, regardless of the fact that it was sleeping. Death for the creature was probably the best option at the time, because we had murdered all of its offspring. Unlike its children, however, this one posed a serious threat to us, devouring at least 5 of my comrades before we finally took it down with our sheer numbers. Who knows what could of happened to the colony of the beast encountered our onion this night? More than 5 Pikmin would die, that's for sure. Olimar's methods of attack, albeit effective, are cruel. I can only imagine how respectful the fight would've been if I was the leader of the Pikmin, but I'll keep dreaming . . .


End file.
